As I lay me down to rest
by Bablefisk
Summary: "They had been together for 53 years, married for 51, and they were both surprised they had managed to live this long, doing what they did for a living." Clint is dying.


"I love you, babe".

Bucky lay on his side in their bed, stroking his husband's hand, catching his words just as he went to sleep. They had been together for 53 years, married for 51, and they were both surprised they had managed to live this long, doing what they did for a living. Though they had both retired by now.

He looked down at Clint's face, wrinkled with age. By the time the Hawk had turned 60, he had stopped all Avenging, training the younger recruits instead. He might have lost some of his flexibility and strength over the years, and his hearing failed completely at 82, but one thing that never left him, was his eyes. At 91 years old they were just as sharp as ever.

Bucky sighed a little as he thought back. It was amazing really, that they had survived this long. The first one of the original Avengers to go was Bruce. Though he could get back up from almost anything, 22 years ago he had been blown up from the inside out, and even The Hulk couldn't get back up from that.

Natasha had been the next one, following a few years after Bruce, caught on her own in a bad situation, and managed to get out, but died from the blood loss. Clint had been nearly catatonic, losing his best friend like that, and they had ended up taking some time off Avenging, traveling as tourists for once.

Tony died in a plane crash twelve years ago, and Steve had followed shortly after, when he in his grief and rage had taken some extremely unnecessary risks in the field. Bucky couldn't blame him.

Sam had retired from the team when Steve died, but was hit by a car of all things just a few months later and died on the scene.

Thor was still alive, though when Jane died a couple of years ago, he had gone back home to grieve, and they hadn't seen him since.

Bucky stroked his flesh hand over Clint's chest, feeling for his heart beat. He knew what was coming. They both did. The Archer had reached his end, and soon his body would give out. He would die of old age, something no one would have ever guessed. And Bucky would be left on his own.

Ten years after he had been pulled out of the brainwashing, he and Steve had started to wonder. Everyone else were slowly getting marked by age, but the two of them looked as young as ever. So Bruce did some testing and found that though they were actually aging, their bodies "healed" it. Old age was just another disease, after all. When they asked him if they would ever reach old age, he just looked at them with sympathy.

Living forever might seem like a great dream, but seeing everyone you love grow old and die was absolutely something Bucky could have lived without, and for the 100th time, he caught himself wishing he would just age normally.

A few tears leaked out as he looked at his slumbering husband. He was so tired. He just wanted rest. He laid his head down on Clint's chest, breathing in the familiar scents of him. A few minutes later, the chest beneath him stuttered a little, and then stopped. Clint was dead.

Bucky curled around him, letting the tears out and sobbing into the shirt. Just the thought of having to get up tomorrow, of continuing without Clint, tore him to shreds. How was he supposed to do this without him? He barely remembered the 40's and the Winter Soldier years were nightmares more than memories, so as far as Bucky was concerned, Clint had been in his life since the start. He had never lived without the other man in his life, and he wasn't even sure he knew how to.

Finally he seemed to have cried himself empty, and as he could feel sleep drag him down, he tried to will his heart to just stop. To stop working, to give him peace. To die, as he should have when he fell down from that train all those years ago.

As the light shone through the windows in the bedroom the next morning, it shone on the two men lying there. One was stretched out on his back, lying deadly still, gray hair shining in the light. The other lay over him, much younger looking, metal arm curled around the man beneath him, face buried in the other man's chest, dark hair fanned out on his back. Neither was breathing, nor had they been for a few hours. The house was at rest.


End file.
